Chapter Eight

Claire arrived that night at the assembly rooms for the fourteenth time. But it was the first time she had arrived with a belly full of quivering butterflies, which made it a brand-new experience. Anything new was good, but this was particularly delicious because it was Colin who brought the butterflies.

They had all arrived together—Adelaide and Mr. Eastwood, Riya and Mr. Mukherjee, and Colin and herself. They were, if she did say so herself, a quite lovely party. The master of ceremonies did not appear to agree, however. She gave her name and title, and yet he hesitated as he looked them over, his nose pointed in the air.

Then Riya straightened to her full height—at least two inches more than the master—and arched her dark brows. “I am Lady Riya, the daughter of the Prime Duke of Rainma.”

“Prime Duke?” the master squeaked. He cleared his throat. “By all means, of course, of course. We are honored.”

Claire was fairly certain the soft snort of disbelief came from Colin, but it might well have been Mr. Eastwood.

They swept past the bowing man and into the room. Claire, Adelaide, and Riya promptly dissolved into giggles.

“Oh, Riya, you were wonderful! So haughty,” Adelaide gasped through her laughter. “I must practice that lofty eyebrow for the next time a matron questions me about Nick.”

Behind them, Mr. Eastwood growled. That only made Adelaide giggle again.

“She is quite good at making a man feel small,” Mr. Mukherjee said. “Life is never entirely comfortable with such a sister.”

“How else am I to keep you and Colin from trouble?” Riya demanded. “Half your schemes would end with being eaten by a crocodile, I am sure.”

Colin grinned and bowed deeply with a grand sweep of his arm. “We thank you for your service, dear lady.”

Riya sniffed. “I should think so.”

Claire bit back a sigh. They were all so comfortable with each other, so at ease! Whereas she stood not quite alone, but not quite one of them, either. So it had been for her entire life. She had friendships, of course. But it struck her that the friendships between other women went deeper, somehow. She was no lady’s particular friend, the friend that received secrets and confidences and was invited to share hers in return.

No one wanted her confidences. They were so very dull.

She tried to think of something witty to say but was fortunately distracted by the arrival of Lord Mowbray.

“Lady Claire, I am so happy to find you in Bath! May I claim your first set?” He turned quickly to Adelaide. “With your permission, of course, ma’am.”

Adelaide’s eyes widened. “Goodness me.”

But before Claire could give her assent, Colin stepped forward. “I’m afraid she has already promised her first set to me.”

Claire nearly fell down in shock. She had most certainly not promised Colin her first dance. She remembered everything, but even if she did not, that particular event would be lit up with fireworks in her brain.

“The second set, then,” Mowbray said.

Claire mutely handed him her card. His lips flattened as he noted the empty space, but he dutifully scrawled his name on the second line.

“Goodness me,” Adelaide said again as Mowbray went in search of other dance partners.

Claire looked questioningly at her.

“It seems I am your chaperone tonight.” Adelaide gave a laugh and a little shake of her head. “How odd.”

Claire patted her arm reassuringly. “Never fear. I am a very easy charge.”

Colin laughed. “Let us not go too easy on Mrs. Eastwood. Shall we test her mettle, just a bit? I see a dark corner made for stealing kisses.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Warmth spread over Claire’s cheeks. Was he…flirting with her?

Adelaide rapped him on the arm with her fan. “You will do no such thing!”

But it was Riya’s serious frown that made Colin flinch. It was clear to Claire that Colin cared for the woman’s opinion. It was also clear that Riya was very much against the idea of dark corners and stolen kisses. Claire bit her lip. Did she disapprove of kisses in general, or just Colin kissing Claire?

A violin hummed, indicating that the first dance was about to begin.

“Shall we, then?” Colin asked, offering his arm.

She took it. A thrill shot through her as her gloved hand made contact with his jacket sleeve. There were three layers of fabric separating them, but it was still the closest they had ever been to touching.

“You will undoubtedly no longer wish to speak to me after our dance, so I’ll go ahead and apologize now,” Colin said as they took their places.

“Pardon?” she asked blankly. But his attention was focused on the first couple as they made their way down the line. His forehead wrinkled in concentration. Suddenly, she understood.

Dear heavens, the man did not know how to dance.

“Shall I twist my ankle, then?” she asked in all seriousness.

He gave her a startled look, then laughed. “No, but I thank you for the noble offer. If any ankle is to be injured, it should be my own.” His grin was abashed. “I ought not to have stolen your first dance from Lord Mowbray.”

“Why did you?” she could not help but ask. She held her breath as she awaited his answer.

“I have a business matter I should like to discuss.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “And I think it best to do so without an audience.”

Her pulse beat faster. “Yes?” she said eagerly.

He didn’t answer. His lips quirked. His gaze locked with hers, and in the depths of his smoky blue-gray eyes a challenge glimmered. “Brace yourself, my lady. This is going to be dreadful.”

She found herself caught in his arms and whirled with dizzying speed. His movements were all wrong. The dance called for mincing steps and no physical contact other than the barest touch of fingertips to fingertips.

He was not supposed to have a hand on her waist.

She was not supposed to grasp his arms and hold on for dear life.

She should be humiliated.

But all she felt was joy.